


Say You Want Me, Too

by sequence_fairy



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Ryan/OC, Divorce, M/M, Recovery, Reunion, Substance Abuse, big scary divorce tag but i gotta put it there 'cause it is a thing that happens, but i promise the ending is happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22616710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: It’s too easy, Shane thinks, to love Ryan; too easy to get caught up in the swirl and eddy of the light he projects. Too easy to lose yourself in the whirlwind of an A-list romance. Too easy to fall for who someone is on the red carpet and to find out they’re not at all the person you thought.Ryan’s not like that, though. He’s hard-working, dedicated, and devoted to his craft. Shane loves him for that and more. Loves him for the way Ryan reaches out when they’re on the red carpet and the crush of people is too intense, loves him for the way Ryan redirects the far-too-personal questions that get hurled their way when they come out into the spotlight for real.Where Shane’s career is mowing along at a steady clip, Ryan’s is a rocket rising up out of the desert. Shane knows the saying about tides, but more than anything, he just wants Ryan to succeed, and he’s thrilled to death by the meteoric lift of Ryan’s star.Sometimes, you fall in love and it's just not the right time. Sometimes, you get a second chance.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 45
Kudos: 148
Collections: The Ghosts Are Watching





	Say You Want Me, Too

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is brought to you by Lana Del Rey, those pictures of Brad and Jen from the SAG Awards and my inability to leave things well enough alone. 
> 
> A million thanks to [Ember](http://emberglows.tumblr.com/) for making this read better than I could ever have hoped to on my own and for yelling at me in the correct places. 
> 
> I highly suggest you listen to [Art Deco](https://open.spotify.com/track/5jqNQZBwbZWQXPWfo0ygZF?si=sVvXoCaRR0SLMQap7XlHVA) while you read, as I did, on loop, for hours, while I wrote this.

_It hurts to love you  
_ _But I still love you  
_ _It's just the way I feel  
_ _And I'd be lying  
_ _If I kept hiding  
_ _The fact that I can't deal  
_ And that I've been dying  
 _For something real  
 **But I've been dying for something real**_

\- [13 Beaches - Lana Del Rey](https://open.spotify.com/track/3ZKRAzNAsiJrBGUM2BX9av?si=O1wcyJ5hTbm_TG3ekvIT_A)

Red carpet love affairs come a dime a dozen in the hills, everyone knows. They start like a match to a pile of kindling and end like snuffing a candle. The rules to avoid them are as old as the studio lots themselves: don’t fall in love with your co-star, don’t fall in love with the talent, don’t fall in love with your agent, just don’t fall in love. It’s better that way.

Shane moved west when he was twenty and determined to make it. He never intended to end up in the kind of romance they write inches of tabloid columns about, but then he’d met Ryan, and that had been the end of that.

They slide into each other’s pockets and then into each other’s lives and then, quicker than anyone thinks they should, into each other’s beds. The first time, it’s heavy-hot and Shane thinks he’s going up in flames, like the trees candling in a fire along the 405. Breathing hard in the aftermath, Shane watches the LA sunshine kiss Ryan’s shoulder blades, and thinks that maybe he’d like to break every single one of the rules.

The fire never seems to go out.

It’s too easy, Shane thinks, to love Ryan; too easy to get caught up in the swirl and eddy of the light he projects. Too easy to lose yourself in the whirlwind of an A-list romance. Too easy to fall for who someone is on the red carpet and to find out they’re not at all the person you thought.

Ryan’s not like that, though. He’s hard-working, dedicated, and devoted to his craft. Shane loves him for that and more. Loves him for the way Ryan reaches out when they’re on the red carpet and the crush of people is too intense, loves him for the way Ryan redirects the far-too-personal questions that get hurled their way when they come out into the spotlight for real.

Where Shane’s career is mowing along at a steady clip, Ryan’s is a rocket rising up out of the desert. Shane knows the saying about tides, but more than anything, he just wants Ryan to succeed, and he’s thrilled to death by the meteoric lift of Ryan’s star.

Ryan proposes on a hot summer night, the air thick with the smell of jasmine and lit by the soft blue pool lights.

_“Marry me?” Ryan asks, from the space he’s made for himself between Shane’s thighs._

_Shane looks down at him from where he’s sprawled out on a lounger. Above them, the clouds glow with light pollution._

_“Yeah,” Shane says, “okay.”_

They get married at Big Sur, overlooking the Pacific in the late afternoon, on a day where the weather seems even more impossibly perfect than it ever is in California. Everyone who is anyone is there. The party back at Hearst Castle goes on for three days. Ryan and Shane disappear to Hawai’i for their honeymoon and come back more tanned and happier than ever. 

Their wedding photo, of the two of them on the cliff’s edge as the sun sets in a miraculous riot of colour behind them, becomes an enduring totem of what a perfect wedding should be. It’s the cover of every tabloid rag when their announcement goes out, and their photographer ends up with a four year waiting list within a month.

The rumour mill never sleeps in Hollywood, but somehow, it seems not to touch them. They’re the talk of the town, but it’s whispers of ‘forever’ and ‘perfect’ and admiration for the obvious way they care about each other, instead of the usual drivel about affairs and substance abuse and bad behaviour.

The honeymoon glow never seems to rub off.

They’re handsy at events; always in each other’s space, and the easy rhythm of their banter is unmatched. People make a game of watching for the way Ryan’s gaze goes soft and unguarded when he’s watching Shane, and looking for the moments when Shane’s façade cracks enough to allow how much he loves Ryan to shine through on his face.

Ryan shares domestic pictures of him and Shane on his social media, offering an insight into their lives to his followers. It’s a steady stream of lazy mornings in bed, late nights out on the town, sunny afternoons by their pool, and everything in between. It seems, to all outside parties, that the shine goes all the way through. 

Underneath the veneer of the publicity, it’s not quite as rosy. 

When they fight, it’s explosive.

Ryan’s intensity covers his entire emotional range. Shane’s passive aggressive to a fault. He tries not to resent the fact that what he once loved—Ryan’s rising star—he now feels cheated by. He’d thought, maybe naively, that if Ryan rose, Ryan would take him with him. And for a while, Ryan had. 

Shane’s long-standing role on a sitcom comes to an end with a brilliant finale performance, and there’s both no shortage of potential next steps, but also none that would give him the creative outlet he’s seeking. There’s an overabundance of tall white guys in Hollywood, and Shane’s been looking for his own niche for long enough that he doesn’t want to take the first thing someone drops in his lap. 

He takes some time off from everything, determined to really do the soul-searching he can afford to do now, at nearly 30, which he couldn’t do when he was barely 20 and living on instant noodles and the promise of a dream. He picks up writing again, gets the chance to direct episodes of a sister show on the same network that he’d previously worked for, and finds something magic behind the camera.

Unfortunately, writing and directing does not have the visibility that Ryan’s ride on several blockbusters gives him. The after parties and the schmoozing were never really Shane’s scene before this, and they’re definitely not now.

Ryan, on the other hand, craves the camera in a way that Shane never has.

Their carefully crafted public life is almost entirely a lie by the time they’re four years into their marriage. Shane vacations alone, spends the winter in the hills in southern Italy, and comes back to find Ryan angry and sad and trashed. It’s not the first time Shane has come home to this Ryan, and it won’t be the last.

They fight. It’s loud.

The aftermath leaves them both shaken, a busted vase between them on the floor.

Shane reaches for Ryan, and they fall together in a desperate tangle of apologies and wordless sounds as they ride out the adrenaline crash in the cradle of each other’s bodies.

Unfortunately, sometimes, things that are broken cannot be mended. 

The last photo that Ryan posts before the end is an anniversary wish to Shane. The picture is one that Shane hadn’t realised Ryan had taken. Shane’s standing at the end of the Santa Monica pier, storm clouds set like blooming bruises on the horizon. The caption resonates with finality for all that Ryan peppers it with hashtags about true love and the hope for forever.

Shortly after, Ryan takes a role that will have him overseas for six months. He leaves without saying goodbye because Shane’s already almost moved out.

Shane takes up smoking for something to do with his hands and gets photographed sitting alone at a rooftop bar. The picture generates far too many headlines.

All either of them will say is that Ryan’s filming overseas and that of course Shane misses him, of course. Ryan’s soundbite is mostly about his upcoming movie, but no one bats an eye, he’s always been an easy funnel for good film PR. Ryan loves what he does, after all.

When Ryan comes back, only to let Shane know that he has to leave again for the press tour, they fight some more. 

_“You can’t keep just fucking leaving,” Shane says, palms flattened against the kitchen island. The pot lights above the island catch the gold of his wedding band._

_“It’s not like you want me to stay,” Ryan retorts, pushing himself off from where he’s leaning against the door jamb. “You’re never here anyway.”_

_“Why should I be?” Shane asks. “Tell me, Ryan, why should I be?”_

Their marriage ends officially within the next month with a pair of short statements from their separate publicists.

Neither of them will speak to the press.

===

Hollywood mourns publicly. Gossip columns eulogize the end of their relationship; the internet laments the loss of the flagship queer couple in Hollywood. Under the surface though, the rumour machine is always churning. 

Shane moves back east, desperate to put L.A. in his rearview. Ryan throws himself into his work.

It comes out, in short order, that Ryan’s been cozying up with a co-star. There’s a series of pictures that filter out from the set of the movie he’d been filming before he and Shane had officially ended things. The photos are of Ryan and his co-star, a brilliantly beautiful blonde. The two of them are sitting very closely together, heads bent towards each other, her hand on Ryan’s knee. Ryan’s smile is half-hidden but soft and though her hair covers most of her face, there’s an energy between them that is easy enough to interpret.

There’s no scene like that in the movie. Ryan makes no statement about the photos, and neither does the actress involved.

The movie premieres. Ryan and Kelly’s chemistry onscreen is electric. The movie is objectively not a critical success, but people come out in droves to see it anyway, because their presence alone makes it worth watching.

The rumours persist though, getting more and more pointed as Ryan and Kelly’s relationship heats up. Ryan fields all manner of invasive questions about his sexuality with much more aplomb than he previously might have managed. Neither of them ever say exactly when they started seeing each other, and there’s a bitter divide between Ryan and Shane’s fans online. People sell t-shirts.

Not long after the release of the film and the barrage of speculation that followed, Shane is being interviewed about his producing and directorial credits on an indie awards circuit film he’s helmed. For the first time since the divorce, when asked, he talks about Ryan. It’s unkind, unflattering, and Shane feels guilty afterwards, when he sees his words in print.

There’s no way he can take it back though, and he knows Ryan’s read the interview because Ryan’s been asked for comment and the silence from his camp is enough to tell the story.

===

Ryan and Kelly get married. It is, once again, the talk of the town. Everyone attends or wishes they were invited. Their marriage is highly public. Ryan’s always been someone who shares, and his followers once again delight in the domesticity of his social media posts. They love that Kelly takes a long break from acting in order to raise their family, they love that Ryan takes most of that break with her.

Their family of four is all-American perfection. A son and a daughter, taking after mom and dad respectively, cared for by a horde of nannies and private tutors. They continue to live in Malibu. Ryan turns to philanthropy to pass the time, and he and Kelly become visible faces of various campaigns.

Shane moves back west, but not back to L.A. That city holds ghosts he’s not ready to believe in. 

He packs the New York house he’s been living in since the divorce was finalised, by himself. The last night before the truck comes, he’s going through the last of the boxes he never unpacked when he moved in, deciding whether to keep or toss. He comes across a box within a box, and, curiosity getting the better of him, opens it. Inside, nestled on a bed of crumpled tissue is his wedding band. The gold gleams weakly in the dim light of his storage room.

Shane closes the box and places it carefully amongst the items he intends to keep and finishes packing.

At the same time, some of Ryan’s skeletons start to surface.

He’s always been impulsive, always been prone to doing nothing halfway. It’s small things at first. Ryan’s maybe drinking a little too much at a few events, maybe stumbling a little as he gets out to his car at a couple of others. He’s maybe a little louder, a little less worried about who might overhear him, a little more prone to public gaffes. It escalates quickly.

Soon Ryan’s back on the cover of the tabloids for all the wrong reasons. His team makes statement after statement. Money changes hands to keep things as quiet as they can.

_“You’re scaring me, Ryan. You’re not yourself. Please,” Kelly says, standing in the open doorway, eyes wide and blue and wet. “You have to get help.”_

_“So that’s it then?” Ryan snarls. “Just show up here to take my kids and tell me ‘fuck you’ to my face?”_

_Kelly’s face tightens. Her lips thin._

_Ryan watches her walk away._

Ryan goes away for a stint at rehab and comes back, bright-eyed and on an even-keel. He and Kelly make a brave show at making it work. Ryan does a big summer action thriller, and the Hollywood machine rolls on.

Shane sees that movie in a theatre in Toronto, on a late night without many other patrons. He doesn’t mean to, but it’s the only one showing and Shane can’t sleep.

It’s exactly the kind of movie that Ryan would have loved doing when they were together, Shane thinks. He watches Ryan strip down on screen, sees the definition in his body, and knows, because he’s in the business himself, what it means Ryan’s done. That body is the product of dehydration and overexertion, and Shane knows he’s supposed to be titillated, and at one time, maybe he would have been, but now all he can think about is whether or not Ryan’s trainers are taking care of him, whether Ryan’s looking after himself.

Shane leaves the movie theatre when the movie is finished, and spends the rest of his sleepless night catching up on Ryan’s career. 

It’s the most time he’s spent reading about Ryan in his entire life.

Outside of that, Shane keeps to himself. He has a few partners during the years after the divorce, nothing serious, never seeming to settle. He tells himself it’s because no one is just right, that he’s refusing to settle, that he won’t be made a fool of again.

There’s whispers about him too. There always has been. Shane’s strange and off-putting, in his own words, and people wonder, always, how someone like Ryan ended up with someone like him. Public opinion is fickle, and since Shane never surfaces to defend himself, it mostly falls out in his disfavour.

Shane is, more than ever, dedicated to his privacy.

Ryan’s second marriage fails. The divorce is nasty. The custody battle is bitter and publicised. Ryan loses his kids and then nearly loses his life when he wraps his car around a tree leaving a party in the hills.

The accident is like a semi-colon. A fermata at the end of a dissonant symphony. For a long time, no one’s sure if Ryan will pull through, or if he’ll be the same as he was before. The chord hangs in the waiting time, unresolved.

Shane hears about the wreck when he’s in Poland, hustling for funding for a documentary project for his indie studio. The news is on in the bar where he’s nursing a nightcap. Shane happens to look up when the anchor mangles the Latinx vowels of Ryan’s name and catches the image of Ryan’s car in flames.

His stomach drops to the floor.

For the first time in ten years, Shane wants to call Ryan. He doesn’t, because he doesn’t have Ryan’s number.

Shane makes it back to his hotel room before he gives himself permission to look up the news story. The crash was nearly three days ago. Ryan’s in bad shape but expected to pull through. It’s too late for him to reach out now, Shane knows, but he’s halfway through writing an email to his publicist to find out how to get in touch with Ryan’s before he stops himself.

He can’t. Ryan made it clear ten years ago. He didn’t want Shane then, and he wouldn’t ever want him again. Shane sets down his phone and raids the minibar, ignoring the twinge of guilt at the expense.

He gets spectacularly drunk. Alone. And he still doesn’t try to call Ryan. 

In the morning, even bleary from the hangover, Shane’s proud of himself for that.

===

Shane’s back stateside for only a couple of weeks when Ryan’s released from the hospital. Shane’s phone rings from where it’s plugged in, inside the bedroom of the house he’s been renting in Wyoming while he finishes a script. Shane doesn’t answer, and the unfamiliar number doesn’t leave a voicemail. When Shane picks up his phone later, he assumes the number is a journalist looking for a scoop, and doesn’t bother to call it back.

He stands on the porch, looking out over the swaying grasslands that disappear into the horizon, and thinks about the last time things were good between them.

_“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, Ryan,” Shane says, unable to stop himself from swaying forward into Ryan’s space. When Ryan looks up, Shane winks, just to watch the flush steal over Ryan’s face._

_They’re drunk. It’s been a good day. Ryan’s agent called earlier to let Ryan know he’d gotten a part he’d been waiting on and Shane’s pitch to a studio exec for a TV show pilot has been accepted._

_“I love you,” Shane says, right next to Ryan’s ear. “I love you.”_

_When he pulls back, Ryan’s eyes are soft and shining. “I love you, too.”_

Ryan’s recovery is slow, but steady. Shane doesn’t keep track. He’s busy. He has a deadline. 

===

Soon enough, it’s coming up on the year anniversary of Ryan’s hard right turn into sobriety.

He turns up to a lowkey industry event as a way to ease himself back into the public eye. It’s small, members only, no press, no fans, no expectations. Just business and the people in it.

Ryan orders a sparkling water. The bartender doesn’t bat an eye. People know he’s sober now, but it’s still a jolt for Ryan to realise that people don’t seem to care either way. Ryan cares. It’s been a long road. A hard road. A road filled with potholes and divots and detours and several backslides. He’s got his chip in his pocket, even now.

As he’s walking to a table in the back, carrying his drink, Ryan shoves his free hand into his pocket, wanting to feel the worn edge of the plastic chip against the ends of his fingers. It grounds him, having it with him. He’s got his sponsor’s number in his phone, but it’s been almost three months since he’s had to call outside of their weekly conversations. 

He settles at a table, out of the way of the younger crowd, so as not to draw attention to himself. That’s different too. He’s more at ease in his own skin now. Another battle, hard fought and costly to win.

Shane arrives just before the keynote. They make eye contact across the room. It’s the first time they’ve made eye contact since they signed their divorce agreement and left the boardroom in separate cars.

Shane looks as good as ever. Ryan breaks their gaze first.

As the lights go down for the speaker, Shane pulls up a chair beside Ryan.

They haven’t been this close in almost as long as it’s been since the last time they looked each other in the eyes.

The speaker is engaging, and neither of them look away from the front of the room until the lights come back up and the networking begins in earnest.

Shane leaves Ryan there at his table, and Ryan watches him do a tour of the room. It’s been a while since Ryan’s let himself look.

Shane’s still as tall as ever, still as long-limbed, still as gracelessly graceful as he’s ever been. There’s grey in his hair now, and Ryan noticed, when Shane was closer, that the crow’s feet around his eyes are more pronounced. Ryan has his own though, so those are nothing special.

Ryan leans back to observe, curls his hand around his glass. Shane’s left his on the table. The fingers of bourbon are a siren’s call that Ryan ignores.

No one else comes to his table, and that’s fine with Ryan. He’s not here to network or make friends. He’s here because his publicist thought it might be a good idea for him to get out of the rambly Malibu house he’s been living in, and Devin is rarely wrong about this sort of thing.

Shane returns and scoops up his drink.

Ryan feels like it should be easier to start a conversation with someone you lived with, slept beside, were married to. (Loved).

Instead, it’s hard. Ryan fumbles for a topic after managing to say hello, but Shane puts him out of his misery by asking after his kids. Ryan shoves his phone across the table, keying open his camera roll so Shane can see.

Maddie and Michael are heavily featured in Ryan’s gallery of photos. They’re beautiful kids. Maddie takes after her father, and Michael, the younger sibling, takes after his mother. Ryan talks about them softly, like he’s worried someone might overhear.

Shane understands, a little. He has always been less interested in the spotlight than Ryan, less wanting to be seen. Ryan seems a little more hesitant about it now, too.

It’s easy then, for Shane to say they’re lovely kids and for Ryan to agree. Ryan follows up with a question about Shane’s work and then it’s logical to ask after Ryan’s charitable pursuits. Ryan asks about Shane’s travel plans, wondering if Shane still flies to Italy in the off-season. The question draws Shane up short.

The party shifts and moves around them.

The last time Shane went to Italy to hide in the hills of Calabria, Ryan was back in California, packing. The last time Shane went to Italy during the winter was to run away from his failing marriage and his empty house.

Ryan seems to sense the minefield he’s tread on and changes tack, offering Shane his phone again. This time it’s pictures of the houses Ryan’s charity is building in New Orleans. They’re beautiful, sustainable, net-zero for power consumption and built to withstand whatever the Gulf can throw at them.

The moment passes.

Near the end of the night, Ryan suggests they exchange numbers again. Shane hesitates for long enough that Ryan starts to put his phone away.

It’d be easy to do this, to share his number - to give it back to the person who used to be at the top of all of his messaging apps, whose number and everything attached to it was consigned to the depths of electronic recycling three phones ago - but Shane’s not sure he can do it. 

_“Yo, man, gimme your number.”_

_“What? Why?”_

_“We’re gonna be on this shoot for ninety years, dude, I wanna have someone I can talk to.”_

_Shane passes the guy his phone. “I’m Shane,” he says, and the guy looks up. He’s all dark eyes and a devastating smile._

_"Ryan.”_

Shane hands Ryan his phone. Ryan grins, a flash of teeth, and does the same.

Later, with Ryan’s number in his phone burning a hole in his pocket, Shane paces the length of the flat he’s rented for his upcoming press junket. He doesn’t take out his phone.

Ryan sits on his balcony, watching the sun coming up over the roofs of the houses around him and thinks about how nice it is to have someone in your life you don’t have to hide from.

Someone who has seen you at your worst and still shows up when you need them. Someone who already knows all your secrets and all the scariest parts of you.

He’d needed that after the accident.

Ryan’s glad he doesn’t remember much. It was hard enough to manage what he does remember. Hard enough to wake up alone except for the quiet shuffling steps of the nurses in a private room at Cedars-Sinai, hard enough to know that there was no one out there who mattered wondering if he was alright.

He’d wanted, badly, to reach out to someone. Someone who cared. Someone who would listen. 

There’d been no one to call.

===

After that, they keep running into each other. Hollywood is a small town, after all. Ryan never appreciated how much until now. He sees Shane loping across a parking lot and lifts a hand to wave and Shane nods. Later, they see each other across the length of a country club ballroom.

It comes to pass that Ryan is the one who texts first. He’s been sort of keeping up with the fortunes of Shane’s not-so-little production studio, and they have a premiere coming in the next week. It’s a documentary feature, so not something that will get the press and visibility of a traditional premiere, but Ryan knows Shane would prefer it like this anyway.

He sends a quick text. Says good luck, and wishes Shane well.

Shane replies hours later, and Ryan can’t stop himself from drawing his thumb along Shane’s name, seeing it once more at the top of his messaging app.

Shane texts Ryan a month later when Ryan’s honoured at a gala. For some reason, the knowledge of Shane’s admiration buoys Ryan through a night that might otherwise be marred by the pushy photographers at the entrance and their equally obnoxious counterparts, looking for a soundbite.

They’re not as interested in Ryan these days. He lives a much quieter life than he used to, but they’re never too uninterested to see if he’ll say something they can use to prop up an old story about him. Fame is fickle, and Ryan’s had his fill.

The texting picks up.

**_From Shane:_ ** _[link to a listicle comparing popcorn at local indie theatres] opinions?_

**_From Ryan:_ ** _you know the best popcorn was at that place we used to go_

**_From Shane:_ ** _Great speech tonight_

**_From Ryan:_ ** _img03949.jpg great view this morning_

**_From Shane:_ ** _i run near there_

They meet for a coffee at an out of the way place Ryan knows. It’s quiet. They get their cups to go and wander down the block, ducking through a gate and into a cemetery shaded by its high walls.

Conversation comes like it used to. There are pitfalls to watch for, but when Ryan steps in one, Shane’s reaching down to help him out. It’s a better kind of beginning.

That summer, Ryan meets with a writer for an interview. She’s fresh-faced and the kind of pretty that would have made him look twice when he was younger. They chat about his work (fulfilling), his quiet comeback (terrifying), about his relationship with his kids (better), and then, the writer takes a gamble. She leans across the table they’ve commandeered at an upscale lunch spot in Culver City and asks about Shane.

Ryan’s answer makes her smile and he smiles back when she doesn’t press for more.

The magazine that publishes the story runs it alongside a spread of photos, mostly of Ryan, and mostly publicity shots, but there’s one candid, lifted from his instagram feed, from early on, as a nod to the turn of conversation towards the ghosts of Ryan’s past. In it are Ryan and Shane, mostly hidden behind the giant plant Shane’s holding. It had been the day they officially moved in together.

When asked for a comment later, Shane shrugs, loose and easy, and returns the sentiment. Adding that he’s proud to hear Ryan’s been picked for a role in a character-driven genre film to be made in a small studio in the Northwest. He says he’s happy to see Ryan being recognized for the talent that he is.

Ryan reads Shane’s response while he’s sitting in a makeup chair on set. It carries him through a gruelling day of shooting. He sends Shane a picture of the Seattle skyline on the day he flies home.

Something shifts in the LA heat that summer. Fires burn in the hills, and the smoke makes the golden hour last for days. The city seems held in a pregnant pause, and everyone waits for the change in the air that signals the shift towards the cooler side of the calendar.

Shane meets Ryan for a run and they fall into step without speaking. The city breathes out and the rain comes in a sweeping rush.

===

Early the next year, they run into each other at an awards show, on the red carpet. They’ve been careful still, not to be seen in public too regularly. It’s easy enough to keep to their usual pattern. This meeting, though, almost seems orchestrated by some unseen hand.

There’s no reason for them to be on the carpet at the same time, except that Shane’s car was late, along with everyone else’s, if the crush of people is any indication. 

Shane sees Ryan first; would know the tilt of his head and the set of his shoulders anywhere.

Ryan turns and sees Shane. His face lights up and the crowd parts like water to let Ryan through.

Shane forgets about the flashing cameras. He forgets about the press. He forgets that he can’t look at Ryan like the sun is coming out behind him after a long winter of darkness. Forgets that he can’t reach out and touch Ryan like he used to.

He takes Ryan’s wrist in his own hand, and Ryan looks up at him through his lashes. It’s like coming home.

It’s only a moment, but the flashbulbs make Ryan’s eyes shine.

There’s no time to say anything, so they don’t. Then Ryan steps away in answer to his publicist calling his name. Shane’s hand lingers on his wrist until Ryan slides out of his grip.

Ryan accepts the award he wins and Shane watches, unable to keep the secretive smile off his face.

They end up at the same after party. It’s raucous, loud, celebratory. Everyone is in high spirits. Neither Ryan or Shane pay much attention to anything but each other. No one sees them leave.

===

In the morning, as the photos from the red carpet are pored over by the masses, one in particular catches everyone’s eye. It’s the moment Shane had taken Ryan’s wrist, the moment Ryan looked up, caught by lucky chance. They’re alone together in a crowd of people. There’s a second photo taken as Ryan’s walking away, Shane’s hand still holding his wrist. Ryan’s back is to the camera, and Shane’s in profile, but there’s a lingering yearning that is impossible to explain away on Shane’s face, matching the moment of wanting on Ryan’s face in the previous shot.

===

Shane rolls over to grab his ringing phone, wincing against the bright LA sunlight streaming into his rented flat, and runs right into the solid heat of Ryan next to him in bed. It’s so familiar and so missed, that Shane can’t help himself. He’s leaning down to smear a kiss across Ryan’s shoulder before he can overthink it.

Ryan wakes up the moment Shane’s phone stops ringing. He’s all dark eyes and mussed hair, and a soft smile that lights something in the hollow of Shane’s chest.

Ryan meets Shane in the middle and they slide together like they’d never slid apart.

The rest of the morning can wait. Shane dumps his phone off the side of the bed and Ryan reaches up and hauls him in.

After, Ryan rolls over so he can rest his head on Shane’s chest. Shane’s hand comes up, like he’s going to slide his fingers through Ryan’s hair but he stops, suddenly unsure if this kind of intimacy is allowed again as well. Ryan reaches up to trace the line of Shane’s jaw with the pad of his thumb and Shane’s hand comes down in a hesitant caress.

That first morning lasts into the middle of the week.

When they come back up for air, it’s late on Wednesday, the sky darkening overhead. They’re sitting on the floor next to the open patio door at Shane’s. The air coming in is early January chilly, but Ryan’s wearing one of Shane’s sweaters and neither of them want to move.

What is between them is at once new and the same as it ever was. It feels real in a way that other things haven’t for Shane. His arm wrapped around Ryan feels solid, and the warm press of Ryan’s thigh against his is grounding.

They have too much unfinished between them to start again without hashing it out. The conversation is long and fraught.

_“I’m sorry,” Ryan says, into the side of Shane’s neck. “I’m so sorry.”_

_Shane rubs his hand up and down the length of Ryan’s spine. “I know.”_

_Ryan lifts his head. His eyes are wet and dark and lovely. He opens his mouth, but Shane stops him._

_“No,” Shane says, “not yet.”_

_––_

_“I wanted to call,” Shane says. “So many times.” He draws a finger down the centre of Ryan’s bare chest. “So many times.”_

_“I called once,” Ryan says. Shane’s hand slides to his side. “After the accident. You didn’t answer.”_

_Shane’s breath stops, something sharp lodges in his throat. “Ryan,” he says, like it’s the only word that’s ever mattered._

_––_

_Ryan laces their fingers together._

_“I’m sorry,” Shane says._

_Ryan squeezes his hand. “I know.”_

_––_

_“Just for us,” Ryan says, breath hot against Shane’s ear._

_“Just for us,” Shane repeats, mouthing at the skin of Ryan’s hip and marvelling at the way Ryan still hisses at the touch._

They keep it quiet for months. Instead of going public, they put the time in relearning each other. This time, they don’t want to share. They want to keep it for themselves. Ryan fills his phone with pictures of Shane that he never posts. Shane takes Ryan to all the places he haunted while writing scripts. They go to Italy, together.

Shane bears Ryan down onto the bed in the villa they booked, lays him out and makes him beg for it. Ryan takes him out into the walled garden that evening, and after dinner, he fucks Shane thoroughly while the stars come out and the scent of summer jasmine rises into the air.

The secret holds until late that summer.

They’ve stopped being purposefully careful, and are seen walking hand in hand down a stretch of beach north of the city. A picture surfaces.

The internet combusts and the gossip columns run at lightspeed for weeks..

They don’t get remarried, because they’ve done that already and it comes with far too many expectations. Ryan’s kids stay with them on weekends and when their mum is filming on location. Kelly and Ryan have as good a relationship as co-parents with their history can, and Shane knows their reconciliation was hard-won.

Hollywood basks, once again, in the light of their renewed relationship as Ryan and Shane show up to every event they are invited to over the next year, hand in hand, and looking very obviously in love. 

And this time, this time, it feels like the right time.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come and chat with me about my fic on [tumblr](http://sequencefairy.tumblr.com) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/warpspeed_chic).


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